Temples of False Promise
by AJ McKay
Summary: In a far future when even the Silver Millenium is forgotten, a young boy sets out to unite a chaotic world, he only has to look so far...R&R if you may
1. Without a Name

Tales are told and weaved throughout time  __

Tales are told and weaved throughout time 

to one day join the archive of all. 

Listen to this tale told long after Queen Serenity 

and her beloved Silver Millennium, 

long after Uther's son and his violent descent to Avalon, 

long after the reign of King Endymion and Neo-Queen Serenity 

and their precious Crystal Tokyo

and so long after the remembrance of time 

in which our senshi have become mere shadows,

promoted to the wretched position of deities 

from what they once were. 

Where another figure of power is rising, 

reborn in a time so familiar yet so alien. 

Where the line of enemy and ally have been redefined, 

where the rebirth of our heroes 

is either a curse or a saving grace.

Temples of False Promise

Chapter One: Without a Name

__

Retold by Hel

The small boy ran through the twisting streets at a speed that the legendary Hermes would be in awe of. He was using every last bit of strength that his thin legs had. Three words echoed in his frightened mind.

RUN!HIDE!PRAY!

The first two words were words of instinct. Sewn in time over countless centuries, any expected reaction for your stereotypical Homo Sapien. The last word left a foul taste in the boy's mouth. It had been acceptable for his old life, but for what lay ahead it just wasn't the right thought to be having. The word was so embedded into his being. Whether he believed in the gods and goddesses or not was irrelevant, to pray to them was completely natural. The monks had taught him that harsh lesson that would probably never be forgotten.

Any memory he had of his few years on this Earth were terrible and he wanted to wipe them out of existence, but the real world had a way of sapping his will power and each day and night through his endless chores, studies, and prayers all dictated to the great god, Cronus. Every waking memory he had was at the temple, as far as he knew he had been there for all his life. He never left the walls only a few monks ventured out of the thick incredibly high stone walls to get food and supplies.

The temple and all its followers were dedicated to the great Cronus, god of time and space, or so they believed. Each different god or goddess was worshipped as the greatest by their loyal servants. Over time the tales had been twisted, but the monks of Cronus believed they had the truth, then again each different sect believed that. Many different temples and beliefs were at a sort of unofficial war with each other.

The monks had made a vow to celibacy. Cronus's followers were powerless and few between. Many of the goddess's religions were some of the largest cults and parents might send their children to become an active follower. Even noble parents sent their younger children. The monks of Cronus had thought of a different way to keep their religion prosperous. The orphanages were over-crowded and the city officials gladly forked over their abandoned male babies. The monks raised the children as "charity" meanwhile gaining a few extra hands to help out with the harder chores. This certain temple was one of the worst places for a child to spend his boyhood.

Each temple had different beliefs and customs. Each had different stories about how their deity gained their supreme power. Many temples undertook daily sacrifices of animals and even people.

Cronus's followers were strictly male. They strongly believed that the female race was a throng of evil seductresses and sly witted she-devils that beguiled mortal men into mindless imbeciles, only then craving the appetites of soft flesh and the tinkling sounds of their own money. All in all the monks believed that anyone who philandered with woman was a sinner of the highest kind.

This belief of evil women probably stemmed from one of the most well known Cronus stories, at least in this temple. Cronus had a daughter, Pluto, who plotted against her father from the day she sprang from his seed. So being the god of time, Cronus stood and guarded the Door of Mists, lost in the Mists of Time. He kept all knowledge of the place secret until one insistence when his daughter convinced Venus, goddess of love and beauty, to seduce Cronus and get him to reveal his secrets. Venus was quite friendly with the darker goddess and agreed to the terms. She bewitched the great god Cronus and he told her everything she wanted to know. When Pluto found out the knowledge of Cronus from her ally she rushed to the Door of Mists and retrieved Cronus's orb scepter from its clever hiding spot. When Cronus came back he realized how powerless he was to his daughter's stolen power. She gave no pity on her father as she sent him away without a key to wander the Mists of Time for all eternity. Since then the world has each year over the centuries become a desolate and unwanted living spot. The monks of Cronus believed there was hope though, one day Cronus would break out of his heartless wandering and defeat his malicious offspring. Each mortal man living and dead who had been faithful to the almighty Cronus would be saved and all unfaithful men and all women would become extinct with no chance of entering any after world.

The boy had lived with the monks for about eight years or practically all his life. The monks never bothered to tell him his age or teach him anything important, only what could be used day to day in the worship of their beloved Cronus. But through it all, the boy had been able to count his years. It was through the sickening sacrifices he was able to do this. Each year, on the day called Wintertide, the day that possessed the fewest hours of the sun's rays, one of the "charity" boys would be sacrified for the almighty Cronus. It was so gruesome and inhuman that every sacrifice of one of the boy's friends had been etched into his memory, so bluntly and so plainly. The monks preached that a boy's youthful and energetic spirit would travel across the Plains of Nothingness and reach the Mists of Time and search out Cronus. This strength would one-day give Cronus the will to escape his banishment. Someday, with just a bit more strength, was all that was needed to rescue the god.

The first six sacrifices had been friends, all the boys stuck together to bring each other the courage to go on in the wretched temple. They were all so close in their harsh, humble lives. 

The boy remembered the events of his seventh year so plainly, so vividly, that it left all the others in the dust of his imagination. He still remembered in sharp details the giant iron block that lay rooted to the floor of the small catacombs underneath the temple. One of his comrades, the chosen one, had been lead to the dark blood-stained block, while the other boys and monks watched silently. The boy's closest friend stood up there small, pale, stark naked, and way undernourished. His friend seemed to except his fate so calmly and completely the boy wondered if it was all a trick, some type of joke, but the monks had never laughed or said anything funny in all the time that the boy recalled. His friend climbed unto the block and laid there without moving, not even a shiver went through his friend, not even the rise and fall of his chest. 

An old monk, one whom the boy had seen boss many of the younger ones around, stepped up to the stone. He started chanting in the confusing old tongue, his voice sounded scratchy and thin, but his hand was swift and precise when he slit the throat of the boy's closest friend. He then proceeded to make four more cuts around the body using a special ceremonial stone knife. Each time a different monk would race forward to catch the dripping blood in their crude wooden bowls. When the rich red blood stopped flowing five monks passed the five bowls around the room. This part was common to the boy, each monk and boy was required to drink a sip of the thick salty liquid, so as to renew their covenant with Cronus and to let a little of the dead child's strength seep into them and make them stronger for the day Cronus would escape from his dark abode and come back to the world of mortals.

As one of the blood bowls was handed to the boy he thought of the owner of the life's blood, the pale malnourished, lifeless body resting on the cold iron stone never to breathe, never to share future hardships with the other boys, never to be almost happy, almost a child.

All his life this boy had been taught submission and subertuge. He might survive boyhood to rise to the rank of monk if he lived, but was living truly real without love? Every other person in that room had given up and excepted a life of service to some unseen god. That boy was the only one in those catacombs that was able to think clearly, to be able to have his own will. Hibernating deep inside that boy was a fierce, fiery spirit not willing to be mentally chained to conform with his surroundings. He was noble and pure. One burning light in the whole dark and dreary tomb of the temple.

The boy gazed into the murky dark red depths of the bowl and thought he saw the smiling face of his closest friend. He had never seen the other boy smile, but it looked so natural. The boy grinned back, a first for him also and threw the tainted blood filled bowl at the old monk, the one who had sacrificed, no murdered, a child. The monks plain, coarse robes darkened on the spot the blood had spattered on, right over the old man's cruel and ice cold heart.

The boy was seized immediately and taken up to the open air of the weed choked courtyard where he was kicked, spit upon, and whipped by a group of a half dozen monks. After what seemed like a lifetime the boy was taken to see the old monk. He did not cry out as they roughly and unkindly pinched and grabbed his tender wounds as he had not cried out when they had inflicted them upon his personage.

The old monk still had on his blood soiled robes and looked positively enraged as the two were left alone.

The monk was quiet for a few moments looking and studying the boy more closely. He saw something in the boy that made him afraid, little did he know that it was the boy's own powerful life-force that threatened and puzzled the monk so.

"Who do you think you are?" The monk hissed. The boy stared calmly at the monk and titled his head to the side as if he was looking at the monk through a different perspective.

"I am more important than you are," the boy answered clearly and slowly. This just seemed to further anger the old monk.

"You are a wretched worm," the monk spat. 

"No, I am your downfall, the downfall of all the evil on this precious Earth. I will put order back into this chaotic world," the boy talked like he was in a daze. He didn't seem to realize what he was saying until the words had already popped out of his mouth.

"Cronus shall do that," the monk insisted. He needed to believe in his religion, keep strong, and here this boy was mixing up everything he had ever been taught. Pluto must have sent herself the boy. That was the only way to explain the boy's bewitching voice that almost made the old monk believe that his religion was a fake.

"Cronus is dead as are any these so-called gods and goddesses," the boy's voice was firm and never wavered. His spirit was very much alive and burning up inside his human husk.

This last statement made the old monk go pale. He was shaking as he ordered another beating upon the boy.

"You shall learn the error of your words. You shall regret blaspheming the name of Cronus. In the next year you shall cleanse your spirit enough to join Cronus in his eternal maze!" the monk shouted at the boy as he was dragged away.

Over the next year the boy was singled out for extra punishments and chores were issued to the boy from the old monk. Life was so much harder. He was completely alone now without his closest friend by his side to keep him company in those dark and terrible days. All the other boys ignored him, hoping his bad luck would not rub off on them. They deserted their once friend, the boy was left to bear up the load unto his own back. The yoke of labor was too much and eventually started wearing down his body and soul. His flame of newfound life was being slowly and painfully extinguished. The boy was as good as dead.

On the night before Wintertide the boy was awaken by a rough callused hand and a cold breath upon his cheek. There was a group of monks standing there, looking like all the powers of hell, their robes pulled over their heads and the black murky depths of their faces were impenetrable. The boy had no clue who the monks where, but he knew why they had come. He needed to be cleansed before they sacrificed him. The monk by his face whispered harsh words that commanded the boy to follow the group. 

Without a word of defiance or an act of unwillingness he meekly followed the monks. His head was bowed as he exited the cramped sleeping quarters where all the boys slept. None of them awakened, sleep only lasted a few hours and the boys savored every minute of it. None of the boys even saw their once brave friend leave the room so submissively, so defeated, if they would have they would surely have cried at the cruelty they had bestowed the boy over the last year. They had abandoned him when he needed friends the most, they would one day regret their decision, but tonight they would sleep their heavy dreamless sleep without knowing what had become of the other boy.

The sacrificial boy was lead to the main temple room of worship to the supreme Cronus. One of the monks motioned for the boy to kneel and he did so. His knees giving way under his weak body as he slid to the ground. He got into the praying position; knees crunched under body with forehead just barely touching the ground. His hands stretched above his head almost to where his short bone thin fingers touched the bottom stair of the short staircase leading up to the altar. 

As he lay in the uncomfortable position he knew he was suppose to reflect on his short pathetic life and how he would be better suited to serving Cronus in the Mists of Time. But as he crouched there he thought about his life and realized he had no life. He had been right a year ago to think of love. How dare the monks make a decision for him? He had no life because he had no love, but he also possessed no name. There were no names in the temple, only Cronus was worthy to have one. Names were not needed. Every child and man was known by face, voice, and actions. What greater gift to Cronus then to detach yourself from life so extremely as to have no name? Cronus would give all his children names fit for immortals in his re-awakening hour. The boy was as nameless and as lifeless as everyone else in that temple. One thing made him different, though, he wanted a name, and he wanted to live. His fiery spirit clung to the hope that he would realize this, it yearned to breathe life into the boy's empty husk.

The boy, with more courage then he had even a year ago, lifted his head up enough to see that he was indeed alone in the temple room. How arrogant those moronic monks were and how stupid their tiny minds were to leave the boy unattended. It was all so perfect. The monks had believed him so battered, so unspirited they trusted him to do, as they wanted him to, pray for the moment of his sacrifice. He had tricked them over the past year without him even noticing what he was doing, his spirit had taken over while his mind had given up. While the monks and all the "charity" boys saw a beaten, submissive child his spirit had hid and waited for the perfect moment, this moment. It was time to take matters into his own hand, gain a life. There was a need for action, to accomplish the most forbidden act of all.

The boy ran. He ran straight out the front temple doors, down the weed and thistle choked pathway. His bare hardened feet barely felt the rough and cruel edges of the badly cracked walkway.

As he passed the high, impressive front gate, the only way out of the temple. It was meant to deter him, but failed utterly. He thought he heard shouts and the thumping of feet behind him. The gates felt like passing through the gates of burning hell, at the end was his renewal, his freedom.

RUN!HIDE!PRAY!

No that wasn't right.

RUN!HIDE!THINK!

And so he did.


	2. The Isis Clan

Tales are told and weaved throughout time  __

Tales are told and weaved throughout time 

to one day join the archive of all. 

Listen to this tale told long after Queen Serenity 

and her beloved Silver Millennium, 

long after Uther's son and his violent descent to Avalon, 

long after the reign of King Endymion and Neo-Queen Serenity and their precious Crystal Tokyo

and so long after the remembrance of time 

in which our senshi have become mere shadows,

promoted to the wretched position of deities 

from what they once were. 

Where another figure of power is rising, 

reborn in a time so familiar yet so alien. 

Where the line of enemy and ally have been redefined, 

where the rebirth of our heroes 

is either a curse or a saving grace.

Temples of False Promise

Chapter Two: The Isis Clan

__

Retold by Hel

The boy knew he had escaped. He knew he was beyond the reach of the old monk and all the rest. He had lived his whole known life inside the temple and was confused about what was happening outside. He had never known that the temple was built smack dab in the midst of a great city. The number of people was suffocating, not to mention the unfamiliar scents of human body odor, strange brewing foods, and any other smell familiar to a city atmosphere. The sun was barely pass the horizon and hundreds of bodies were already up and going about their business; merchants, children, city guards and officials, and an assortment of other typed of people.

The dust and dirt disturbed by the hustle and bustle of many people and animals wandering down the city's streets put the boy into a strange unending coughing fit. This alarmed the boy and soon he was panicking. His lungs felt as though they were on fire.

"Calm down, boy, breath with your mouth just slightly open, it helps," a large man appeared out of the crowds of people walking to and fro. In one giant hand he could have held the boy's entire head and crushed his small skull without flexing a muscle. The man was not in any way fat, just muscular, with a tangled mop of curly black hair overgrown on his head and a long gray frizzy beard that reached down to his belt which held a sword buckle with a great broadsword encased in the fine leather and metal. His hands were decorated in calluses and his face was beet red from the unyielding hot power of the sun. His clothes were of a sensible, but fashionable cut and quality, though, at the moment any clothes other then those of the boy seemed fit for a king.

"Sorry," was all the boy had time to mumble as he turned and ran (yet again) from the giant stranger.

"Strange kids these days," the man said while shaking his head and walking off. He had business to attend to elsewhere, but all through the day his mind kept on wandering back to the small street urchin. He was curious to how the boy had faired and if he was even still alive in this harsh world. 

Over the next few years whenever he looked deep into the flames of the fire he thought he saw the boy's face growing older and handsomer, nobler and kinder. His daughter thought it peculiar when he would talk about the dream child of the fires.

The boy ran and ran. He jogged around people and twisted to prevent colliding with many of them. He realized the huge city was a maze and he desperately needed to find his way out. He was getting slightly claustrophobic.

After what seemed an eternity he found a gate to the 

outside. He zipped through before the weary guardsmen could even acknowledge the blur of drab colors. 

The breeze and the openness surprised him, he had never realized that there was so much more beyond his tiny temple world, the sun rays warmed him and the noises of nature were awe-inspiring.

The rocks and pebbles were starting to irritate his worn out feet so he turned off the road and raced down into the ditch and then into the shrubs and trees. The soft green grass felt cool and wonderful beneath his aching feet. 

He didn't stop until he reached a small creek that was when he realized how thirsty he was. His throat was rubbed raw by all the exercise and he proceeded to crouch down to drink on the small sandy bank.

Many might think it strange that nature to be so summer-like in the middle of the winter season, but the world was finicky like that. This was an area of the land that always felt like summertime, at least for the time being. The gods and goddesses tended to play with things, as they wanted. Their magic kept some places warm and some so cold that no human could live there. The deities could change their minds on a moment's notice and make some drastic changes. They liked to keep their mortal servants on their toes.

As the boy was drinking he knew he needed to find out where he was. Find work on a farm maybe. He knew he couldn't work in the city, too many people, but on a farm in this beautiful and perfect countryside would be ideal. 

As he sat on the bank for a while in a sort of daydream, planning his future, the breeze picked up.

"Arthur!" a voice whispered in the gentle wind that blew into the boy's ears. He gasped in shock, what was going on could only be described as magic. The voice didn't stop there and was accompanied by others all whispered through the wind.

"Go back."

Like hell was he going to go back to the temple or the city. He'd take his chances out here before going back to those evil places. Not in a million years would he ever go near either of them again.

"Find your future."

"Stay strong."

"Search for love."

He was thinking about his future, but to think about love was unheard of, women were evil. He still believed this even after his escape from the temple, some things were cemented into his subconsciousness. 

"Go away!" the boy shouted angrily at the wind voices.

"You need not be so harsh," a voice, this time not magical ones on the wind, but one issued from the mouth of a man standing directly behind the boy.

The boy whipped around and looked up into the face of a man most likely in his mid-thirties with long silvery white hair pulled back into a ponytail and with crystal blue eyes that danced merrily with amusement over the boy's surprise. He had on bright gaudy colors of a loose fitting silk material and in one ear had a large gold hoop. He was most likely somewhere in his mid-thirties.

"I did not mean you," the boy said quickly and was about to start running yet again when he was grabbed from behind by two strong, thick hands. The silver haired man had not been alone.

"Who did you mean then, that rock lying by your foot or maybe that small fish jumping out of the creek," a gruff voice said sarcastically from behind the boy, it was the man holding him. The silver haired man stayed quiet with a calculating look on his face. The boy met his gaze straight on, in the man's eyes he saw the truth, the man had heard the voice also!

"Let me go," the boy insisted pathetically. He knew that he could not escape two grown men.

"Hey, Byron, I think the widdle boy misses his modda," the man behind the boy boomed. He then twisted the boy around to be facing his captor that was behind him. What the boy saw was an incredibly fat man with dirty blonde hair, thinned around a bald patch in the middle and dressed as gaudy as his partner. He had a bushy mustache that matched his hair color that waggled whenever he moved his head.

"Cheech do not tease the lad, you'll only scare him," the silver haired man said mildly. The boy figured the man's name must be Byron as his friend had called him.

Byron turned to the boy and squatted down so the two were eye to eye. The boy looked into the man's eyes and saw a flame of life that rivaled his own.

"You are alone, are you not?" Byron questioned the boy softly so as only he could hear and not Cheech. The boy nodded as an answer. 

"Family?" This time a shake of the head in a firm no.

"Can you sing?"

"I do not know."

"Can you dance?"

"I have never tried."

"Do you possess any magic?"

"None that I know of?"

"Can you captivate a crowd and keep them so interested that they loose the sense of time?"

"I despise crowds," the boy said venomously, this made Byron raise his eyebrows in questionment.

"Where do you come from that you have not learned anything of the arts? Even the common milk maid knows how to whistle a tune as she does her daily chores," the man said his voice filled with amazement.

"Sir, I have just been born today," the boy replied, which was technically true. In the temple his spirit had been dead.

"What did you do to be born?" the man's question was strange, but the boy smiled, the man understood.

"I learned to live," the boy said simply and wholeheartedly.

"You are clever minded," the man said loudly has he stretched back up to his full height.

"Your not going to do what I think you are, are you?" Cheech asked, his usually jovial face now somber with the moment. Cheech had known Byron since he was born and could usually predict what the younger man was going to do, usually before he even gave anyone a clue. Byron looked at his oldest friend and gave him a small smile, there was no way Cheech would ever understand what had happened between him and the boy. Cheech had no clue how special the boy was. The boy probably didn't even know.

"I can tell by that look on your face that you are going to do it, I advise you to walk away right now and leave this urchin behind. What will Marcus say? How about Aphrodite? Your not thinking about the faith of your own clan," Cheech begged. Byron just shook his head and then looked at the boy. The young lad gazed up into Byron's eyes so full of trust, but apprehension. The boy knew what Byron wanted to do, but was not sure that he would go through with it. Byron needed to for the boy's sake.

"The clan will learn that he is no threat," Byron said simply. "Now we should be getting back, many are anxious to get back on the road."

"I will follow where you lead and support you in anything you do, even if I don't agree with it," Cheech said reluctantly, his voice full of sorrow. "I will pray to the goddesses that all goes well."

Byron nodded with respect for the man and then turned to face the boy again.

"Would you like a home?" the man asked. The boy hesitantly looked back to where the city lay and sighed. He would be leaving permanently the only place he knew. He had never planned to enter the city again, but it would have been nice to just look at it from a distance every once in a while. He also knew where his heart was leading him. 

"Yes, I think I shall," the boy said his voice not even wavering as he turned back to Byron. Byron smiled, a smile a father would give to a son he was proud of.

"Then follow us, it is not far. We are gypsies, wandering entertainers. Your home is as of this moment with us," Byron said and the boy followed the two men into the bushes and trees back to his new home. 

Aphrodite was bored. Everything was packed and ready to go, but of course Byron was holding up the whole group. He had insisted on going for a walk when he knew everyone was in a hurry to be on the road and away from the city. They had arrived there a fortnight ago and had done their shows for nearly half of the city. It was always fun to entertain, but no one liked to stay cooped up in one area too long. It was in the gypsy blood to like to wander, they lived for the adventure and excitement that exotic places could bring.

"Don't frown like that, my dear, it only suits to give you wrinkles," a masculine voice purred across her earlobe. She looked up to see a blue haired man in his early twenties standing there. It was Marcus, his piercing gray eyes were rooted to her breasts.

"You should have been a women," Aphrodite said disgusted. Moving her chest out of his viewing range. 

"Why?" Marcus asked, truly puzzled. "I think I look just fine as a man." She had to agree he looked more then just fine as a man, he was a stud. A powerful lithe body and a deep sexy voice were only two have his handsome characteristics.

"Then you could ogle your own breasts instead of mine," she explained with a sly grin on her face.

"Yah, that might be nice, but yours would still be more fun to watch, even if I was a woman," he teased.

"You'd be too busy with men if you were a woman, your a sex-crazed jackass," she shot her retort back.

"I'd probably be a lesbian," he said winning the argument and walking away with a triumphant smile on his smug face. 

What a prick, she thought and then smiled, she had a perfect plan to get back at him, not sleep with him anymore. This sounded like a good plan for those first few seconds until she thought about it a little more, he was good in bed, very good, actually.

Aphrodite was just fifteen, but she lived in a very adult world. As long as she could remember people told her how beautiful she was and how her beauty could only be justly compared with Venus's, the goddess of love and beauty. Aphrodite had long blonde hair half way down her back that was the color of ripened wheat. She had round gorgeous eyes that sparkled blue and a body of perfect proportions. Not one scar, not one birthmark marked her creamy gold tanned skin. She was truly a sight to behold.

She was snapped out of her revere when Byron walked back into the clearing. He had Cheech with him, but the real object of everyone's curiosity was the small boy walking beside him. He was so grimy and filthy that Aphrodite couldn't even tell what color skin he had, hell, she wasn't even sure it was a little boy.

The four dozen clan members gathered around Byron, anxiously waiting for him to say something, which he finally did.

"This young man is going to become part of the clan," Byron said simply. Cries of exclamation and disbelief rang through the crowd.

Marcus stepped forward, his handsome face diminished by the angry expression he carried, "The boy needs a sponsor."

I will be his sponsor," Byron proclaimed to the gypsy clan. This brought even more cries throughout the crowd.

"Do you mean to tell me this is your named heir?" Marcus asked like he couldn't believe any of this was happening..

"Nothing of the such has been decided. Don't be foolish, Marcus," Byron reassured. Aphrodite knew Marcus had every right to be mad. Marcus was Byron's only living relative, he was his cousin, if something happened to Byron, Marcus would take his spot.

The boy listened to all that was going on and he was puzzled. Byron needed an heir, was he some type of leader in this clan?

"Does he have any talents," Marcus sneered.

"I promise that this boy has talent, but the nature of it is my concern. Does anyone doubt my judgment?" Byron asked looking around at the now silent crowd. None of them uttered a sound.

"What is his name?" one old woman shouted from the back of the crowd. The boy scrambled in his head for an answer. In his excitement at getting out of the temple he had forgotten to choose a name. Part of his new life was to have a name, but he could not think of the right one in these few seconds. 

"Arthur," Byron said for the boy. The boy looked up at the man and then grinned. It was perfect, the right name, the name he had always longed for at the temple, but never knew about. Byron had named him, but how did he know? The boy then remembered the winds, Arthur had been the word the winds had said first.

"Since I know that all of you are anxious to be on our way we will wait until this evening to have initiation for the boy," Byron said and then added, "Let us be on our way."

Everyone started moving around to wagons and horses; men, women, and children. Byron grabbed the boy by the wrist and moved him over to a wagon. He motioned for Aphrodite to come with.

"Byron, you are crazy," she said when meeting up with the pair.

"I didn't ask for your opinion," he said venomously. "I want you to be in charge of this wagon and of Arthur. Talk to him, teach him what a gypsy clan like ours is all about."

Aphrodite was about to complain, but Byron walked away, he had other things to do.

"He should rot in the black soul of Saturn," she spat and then climbed unto the wagon. Arthur just stood there, why had she been so harsh to Byron? Was she judging Arthur just by his appearance?

"Well, what are you waiting for. If you stand in one place too long all the flies in the forest are going to get a whiff of your smelly skin and be on us in seconds," Aphrodite said cruelly. The boy immediately tried to climb up, but then realized he was too short. The girl sighed with disgust and grabbed him by the back of his shirt and practically threw him in the seat next to her.

"How old are you, five?" she asked.

"Over eight," he said lamely.

"I know six year olds bigger then you," she exclaimed. The boy didn't say anything, he knew that he was way too small, it was because of that damn temple and the way the monks almost kept the boys permanently hungry. Their treatment had probably stunted the boy's growth.

"Why are you being so mean?" he asked in a small voice.

"My name is Aphrodite and it is my duty to be a bitch, I am female," she said harshly. The boy looked up in surprise. She was a woman? One of the evil creatures who ruined men? The monks had taught him that, had the monks lied about women too, Aphrodite didn't look evil, just slightly crabby. 

"Is Byron the leader of your clan?" Arthur asked, he had been wondering about that for a while, maybe she could answer it.

She laughed. He felt his skin grow hot, she was laughing at him. "Have you never hear of Byron of the Isis Clan?" she asked between laughing fits.

"No, should I have?" he was puzzled.

"He is only the king of the gypsies. The leader of the Isis Clan rules all other clans," Aphrodite exclaimed, her amusement still evident in her voice. "He is your sponsor, your protector, if he does this then he can lawfully name you his heir instead of Marcus, his younger cousin."

"I don't want to be king, I just want to live," the boy said seriously.

"Your a strange boy, Arthur, very strange," Aphrodite told him. "Many a person in your spot would sell their soul be given the opportunity to become the next king."

Arthur thought about this and wondered if he would make a good king. 

"Forget about it, hopefully any type of decision made won't be made for a while," she said and began to talk about something else.

The rest of the day she explained to him different aspects of the gypsy life, from traveling around to putting on shows. He absorbed all this information and filed it away for later. He would make Byron proud someday, yes he would

"I hearby name Arthur as my responsibility, to teach him all the ways of a gypsy and especially of the Isis Clan," Byron's voice boomed over the crowd of people. It was Arthur's first night with the gypsies and the ceremony was taking place that would make Arthur a full blood member.

Byron nodded to Arthur. Earlier that evening he had taught Arthur the correct words to say and now was the moment to see how sharp witted the boy was.

"I, Arthur, pledge my loyalty and spirit to the ways of the Isis Clan. I will honor and obey all who are superior in rank to me and to live my life in the gypsy way," Arthur repeated word for word his voice filled with the emotions of having a family for the first time ever. Byron was proud of the boy, he was a fast learner. 

No one would have realized how handsome the lad was 

underneath all that grime and dust. He had dark red hair that one of the women had cut for him into a plain bowl cut and deep purple eyes that danced in the firelight. He face was round and pert with a chin that he lifted up proudly. His skin was pale, almost the color of fresh snow, but he was still way too scrawny. His new bright colored clothes of green and gold did some to help, but everyone could see that he just was much too small.

Marcus had the next part to say. Usually, this was said by the leader of the clan, Byron, butt since he was the sponsor his next in kin or next in line for the leadership took the part.

"Byron put out your wrist," Marcus ordered. Byron obeyed and Marcus took a small dagger and cut a shallow line on Byron's wrist. 

"Arthur, hold out your wrist," Marcus then commanded the young boy. Without a flinch he was able to stand the cut of the knife. This would have reminded him of the sacrifices at the temple, but this felt purer, cleaner, then those ever had.

Byron clasped Arthur's small forearm with his and their blood mingled together over the raging bonfire.

"You two are connected by blood and word. Let neither of you act any wrong upon the other," Marcus said and then it was done. One of the women bandaged up Arthur's arm with herbs and clothe.

Words of congratulations and encouragement resounded from the crowd, they had accepted him. The only one who hung back was Marcus and he looked like someone had stuck a log up his privates.

As the evening dragged on Arthur was going bored, he wanted to explore the world around him. Byron noticed this and told him he could go and wander a bit if he stayed close by the camp. He agreed and hurried off. 

Arthur had never had any time in his life to be just a regular boy so he didn't feel comfortable going over and joining the other children playing some type of game with a big leather ball, instead he wandered over to the river they had camped by.

It was a amazing to see so much water in one place. When he made a comment about that earlier Byron had told him that a river was nothing compared to the ocean. Arthur knew Neptune had created the beautiful water all around him and he was thankful to the goddess. 

As he stood there praying he saw a movement in the water and then a light on the land. He crept over to the spot, careful to stay in the bushes. Someone had just gotten out of the water. There was a small lamp on the shore and the figure walked into the light. The person started dancing to unheard music only in their head. They swayed back and forth, twirling and spinning in some wild dance.

Arthur recognized the person as Aphrodite, but what truly left him at a lost for words was that the stunning woman was completely nude.


	3. To Sing a Death

Tales are told and weaved throughout time   
to one day join the archive of all.   
Listen to this tale told long after Queen Serenity   
and her beloved Silver Millennium,   
long after Uther's son and his violent descent to Avalon,   
long after the reign of King Endymion and Neo-Queen Serenity   
and their precious Crystal Tokyo  
and so long after the remembrance of time   
in which our senshi have become mere shadows,  
promoted to the wretched position of deities   
from what they once were.   
Where another figure of power is rising,   
reborn in a time so familiar yet so alien.   
Where the line of enemy and ally have been redefined,   
where the rebirth of our heroes   
is either a curse or a saving grace.  
  
  
Temples of False Promise  
  
Chapter Three: To Sing a Death  
  
Retold by Hel  
  
Arthur realized there and then he was a naive young man without the basic understanding of a women's anatomy. He had seen many nude bodies in the temple, but all those were male. Aphrodite was one hundred and one percent female. (If he had been a man who had seen many women and something to compare Aphrodite to, he probably would thought she was much closer to two-hundred percent.) Any male dancing seductively on that beach would not have fazed him, but seeing Aphrodite naked was a bit unnerving and not all together unpleasant. He realized that he actually liked and appreciated seeing Aphrodite in all her born glory. What was wrong with him?  
  
"Arthur, I know you are there, come out," Aphrodite said slightly irritated. She wasn't dancing anymore, the look on her face sent shivers down Arthur's body and not because it was a pleasant one.  
  
He pretended that he wasn't there; maybe she was only guessing that he was watching her. He then realized he was naive and stupid.  
  
"Arthur, am I going to have to come in there and get you?" she threatened. If she were going to come in there and get him, then he would probably die of fear. To be that close to a female nude body? He couldn't imagine it; he didn't want to imagine it. Then again...  
  
"Please don't make me," he whimpered using all the courage and childish he had as an eight year old. He wasn't looking at her anymore; he was staring at his new leather boots that Byron had given him. He decided then and there he never wanted to see a women naked again.  
  
"Come out here this second or I'll tear your..." she stopped mid-sentence and a look of understanding lightened her face. She was grinning when she said, "I get it. If I put some clothes on will you will please come out of those bushes?"  
  
He nodded, hoping she would see him. After a few moments she told him it was safe to come out and so he did. The monks had beaten him often so he was ready for any punishment she would bestow.  
  
"I'm not going to hurt you so stop looking like a frightened mouse in a trap," she said exasperated and rolled her eyes heavenward. "I'm proud of my body and I don't mind people looking, just as long as they ask first."  
  
"I really don't...I mean you...no...," he stumbled over the words and finally just quite trying to talk. He really didn't want to see her naked body again.  
  
"You're a guy, a young child really, but all the same you're male. It's okay to be interested," she explained. He still felt ashamed.  
  
Aphrodite wanted to cheer the boy up. Of course, earlier that day she had clearly been mean to him, but then she had been in a crabby mood. Now, she was refreshed after her swim and was quite happy at the moment and willing to help the boy Byron cared about so much. She would do anything for Byron.  
  
"Do you swim?" she asked gently. Arthur just shook his head. At the temple the deepest water had been the spring and fountain out in the courtyard.  
  
"Oh, I thought maybe you would want to swim out to the temple with me," she said disappointed. Even if she tried to teach the boy he wouldn't learn enough to swim to the middle of the river where a small island lay, which is where she had wanted to take him.  
  
"What temple?" he asked, curious as all young children are.  
  
"Out on the island in the middle of this wide part of the river. It's a beautiful place," she said dreamily. The boy just scrunched up his noise, Cronus's temple had not been a beautiful place. There was no way Arthur could imagine a beautiful temple.  
  
"Wait I think there is an old wooden bridge a few yards south of here," she exclaimed and started walking off without even making sure Arthur was behind her.   
  
"Wait up!" He shouted after her. His short legs could nowhere near match her long stride. Even when she was walking it seemed like she was in a fast quick dance motion that was graceful and light. Arthur was sure that in a foot race she would probably win against many men.  
  
The bridge was definitely old. It was rotted away in more then a dozen places and planks were missing everywhere, which made for huge holes. Arthur wasn't sure he would be able to get across it. The water wasn't that fast, but then again he could not swim. What if Aphrodite didn't reach him to save him in time or what if when he fell he broke his head open on one of the rocks? He really didn't want to imagine the possibilities any longer. A sickening feeling began working it's way up his gut and to his throat.   
  
Aphrodite began nimbly hopping her way across from board to solid board. Arthur looked at her in surprise, there was no way he could have done that. She seemed to be able to always jump to a board that wasn't soft and dangerous. Everything she did was with a grace and beauty few could even begin to match.   
  
At about this time Arthur froze, he couldn't jump without possibly killing himself and he couldn't walk away without losing her respect. What did she think he was, a monkey? One of the very few and very far between traders at the temple had once brought one with him. It was small with furry gold fur that grew thicker around its neck and face. All the boys had been amazed at its agility and quickness at swinging from place to place. Arthur was not and in no way came close to being a monkey.  
  
"What are you waiting for, chickens to nest in your hair," she teased. He realized he had not moved a muscle in the last few minutes. He gulped and stepped out on the first board, the only one he knew was solid. He was not going to act like a baby in front of Aphrodite.   
  
Arthur did not want to go across the weak bridge, but he so desperately wanted to see the temple, which Aphrodite had praised so highly.   
  
A slight buzzing sound filled his eardrums and his sight went completely black. As he teetered on the edge of the board he felt something happening deep inside his being. In those few seconds something extraordinary went through his mind and spirit, trust in his own ability. It was the same feeling he had had when he prophesied the old monk's downfall and cursed hid false gods.   
  
So on that bridge in the dark twilight of the early night, he closed his dark violet eyes and jumped from one board to the next with more agility then that monkey and more grace then even Aphrodite. A purely remarkable feat that nobody should have ever be able to accomplish.  
  
At the end he jumped into Aphrodite's arms with a slight whoosh of the air and a balanced fall. She held him lightly with her soft slim arms and righted him back up   
after a few moments. She looked deep into his eyes and an awed look crossed her face, Arthur was not just an eight-year-old boy right now, he was a legend.  
  
  
"Arthur you truly are amazing," she said, her voice full of the fear her heart was twisted around. "Are you truly human or a reincarnation of a god?" She had seen him close his eyes, she had seen him cross the bridge, and mostly it was his eyes that told her he was extraordinary.  
  
"If either of us is or ever was a rebirth of a god, you are," he stated. His voice cared the same dazed tone it had in the temple with the old monk. His words came out of his mouth before he even had time to comprehend the meaning.  
  
"Is that the temple?" he whispered before she had time to remark on the statement he had just said. Aphrodite nodded; she was deathly scared of the small child standing next to her.  
  
Through ancient eyes Arthur saw the temple. It was so different from the one he had grown up in. This one was just four white pillars and a roof all made of a marble that had been softened through the centuries. Underneath was an altar for offerings and strange runes were etched into the stone on the bottom part of the altar.  
  
"Neptune," was all Aphrodite had to say and Arthur immediately understood what she meant. Of course the great Goddess of the Water would have her followers build her a temple on a spot of land so engulfed in water.  
  
"Tell me about Neptune," the boy pleaded in that dazed way. Aphrodite inched away from him and sat on the sandy beach in front of the temple. Her eyes traveled up to the smooth pillars and hesitated when turning to Arthur. He nodded for her to begin. To anyone else it would be strange to see a young woman of great skill and gifts to be asking permission from a small child, but right then and there it was a completely natural act.  
  
"Neptune was a beautiful goddess, not as beautiful as Venus, but an exotic beauty that matched her deep love for all water. She could be warm and loving like when a river is gentle and flowing or be cold and calculating like a great ocean during a storm. Sometimes she could be almost ruthless. There is one story that describes how she earned her powers. She was born a young maiden, child of some sea god. The only gift her father ever bestowed on her was to make her immortal then he never bothered to see her again. He had many children and seldom paid any close attention to a single one. Neptune also was blessed with the gift to play enchanting music on any instrument put into her skilled fingers. A young man named Orpheus, the only other musician ever to match her talent, fell in love with her the moment he saw her playing for the great god Endymion himself at the Harvest Moon banquet when she was bought a young lass of sixteen years. There was nothing Orpheus could do to win her heart, Neptune seemed to spurn all her lovers, and some say she preferred the company of Uranus, the ground-shaker goddess, but of course that is a whole other tale. Orpheus pursued her then after and she ran from the foolish mortal, but no matter where she went he was right on her heels. His lust for her became so great he tried to force himself on her once when he had finally caught her. She screamed out to Uranus, her closest friend, and the goddess came raging down on Orpheus, killing him, but in her anger she had also slain the young maiden. Uranus had no wish to live without Neptune, but being a goddess there was little she could do. In her sorrow she became desperate and went to see Endymion, the healer of the gods, and implored him for his help. He agreed to bring Neptune back on one condition, that she always be on the look out for a woman above all others. Endymion was considered by many to be the ruler and protector of Earth. Beryl, goddess of all human troubles and evils, put a curse on him for spurning her love she had for the handsome god. She condemned him never to find his true love until the world was encased in a blanket of the elements. Endymion scorned her curse and since has searched for his love to make his bride and rule with him. Endymion knew without a doubt then when someone saw his goddess they would know she was meant for him. Uranus agreed and he healed Neptune's broken body, making her the goddess of water. She is in a perfect position to keep a look out for the women that Endymion so badly craved, her water flows around the world, but even to this day she has not found the mysterious women. She continues to search in vain for her friend and savior Endymion's sake."  
  
By the end of the tale Aphrodite's voice became smoother and the words followed easier. She forgot about the strange boy standing over her and even forgot about Neptune's shrine in front of her. The dramatized romantic tale carried her far away so she almost felt like she belonged to the world gods, heroines, and creatures of old. Aphrodite believed in all the gods and goddesses wholeheartedly. She considered herself a storyteller as  
well as a singer of the ballads and such of the deities. She sang, danced, and told stories for her clan and the people they entertained from city to town to village.   
  
"Do you ever wonder if the gods are real?" Arthur asked quietly, but it was just enough to break Aphrodite out of her train of thought. She looked with surprise and awe at the young boy; he was questioning the divine powers? That was blasphemy!  
  
"Arthur, you mustn't!" she pleaded. What if one of them heard him? Somewhere over the past day spent with the naive and foolish child had made her care about him deeply. When it had happened she didn't know when, maybe it was right away in that clearing when Byron had introduced him or maybe it was when she had caught the little imp peeking through the bushes when she was in all her glory. It was well known that to talk bad about the gods was to invite their wrath upon your personage.   
  
"I don't think the gods are real," the boy said simply and firmly. Aphrodite couldn't believe what she was hearing, it was a new evil thought and the boy had let it enter mind. She knew that she would lay awake at night thinking and pondering on that one little thought. It opened doors of doubts and questions in her mind.   
  
"Dam it!" she exclaimed and Arthur's face became less of that dazed wise look and more of the eight year old boy he was suppose to be. "What if Neptune hears you? We are so near to her watery kingdom. How about Jupiter? The goddess of protection and the fighting arts is often known to roam the forests during the twilight hours. Any god or goddess could come right up and strike you mad or even dead for saying such things!"  
  
Arthur turned away from her and it was then that she caught a glimpse of the man he would someday be. The person would be strong and good with a fierce heart. He would not accept things as they were, but what they could be. He would question everything and everyone to find the truth buried under false promises. The Arthur of the shadows of tomorrow was much needed in this evil world. How much Aphrodite wouldn't discover until years later.   
  
"Who do you love most in the world?" Arthur asked, changing the subject so rapidly she had to think over his question for a few moments just to understand its meaning. His voice filled with wisdom and gentleness beyond his years. Aphrodite knew that after the way Arthur had been acting and how he jumped blind across that treacherous bridge nothing else could surprise her, not even a strange question as he asked, she was just doubtful where he was getting at with it.  
  
"I...I don't know," she stammered. Unwanted tears bloomed from the corner of her enchanting eyes. An eight-year child had looked deep into her soul and demanded answers for the things he had found there. How could he do that? She had dark secrets that he had found and questioned about.  
  
"You love yourself only," Arthur accused venomously. She was ready to protest, but then caught his eyes. His deep violet eyes, the color of the sky right above the setting sun, they were absorbing orbs that knew when she lied and when she uttered the truth. To say anything in her defense was useless, he was the judge, jury, and executioner, and her death sentence was impending.  
  
"You can't do this!" she screamed, her once enchanting voice broken and cracked. She sounded like a banshee as she screamed and wailed at the gods-forsaken boy.   
  
"Why can't I," he asked innocently like a young child would, but there was nothing innocent in the statement. He hadn't questioned her he had told her exactly what he thought and this just brought her into more of a frenzy. "You play with other people's hearts, just as Venus did. Venus never was punished for her wrong doings and she should have been. Can you possibly think that one day your actions won't catch up with you? Venus is one of the all-powerful goddess, the bitch in heat of love. How can she be real, she never cried over her own self-obsession, you do. Goddess's are fakes. They cannot possibly be real for reality is you standing here, not living peacefully out your life and completely ignoring all your mistakes and to be praised for it? If you continue to follow Venus's path you will eventually be condemned."  
  
"Venus is a goddess, she is higher then us, she has the power to change things to her wishes!" Aphrodite screamed.  
  
"Except it, Aphrodite, the goddess Venus never existed, she is a figment of foolish people's imaginations, to explain their adulterous actions, their animal frenzies, and their unexplainable feelings," his voice rose in intensity as he began his campaign. "Join me on a quest to prove the falseness of these religions and their temples," he said. Long ago Aphrodite had forgotten that Arthur was just a boy, he was also something else, something more, and that was what was in control right now. To fight him and his words would be like fighting herself, everything he said was true, but to admit to it would shatter her world.  
  
Aphrodite leaped up from her lotus position on the ground and into the cool fresh water of the river, clothes and all. The demon, Arthur, could find his own way back, she thought as she swam away from all her troubles. Just as the tale of Venus being born from the sea foam and raised by sea nymphs, Aphrodite returned to the water where her beloved goddess had come from a goddess who was just as real as Aphrodite, Endymion, Uranus, and all the others.  
  
  
  
Not even Arthur was positively sure how he made it back to camp that night, but Byron scolded him heavily for staying out too late. He took it all in stride. At the temple he had been scolded by imbecile monks that cared more about apiece of meat then about him. Byron genially cared for him and that the feeling was never one that Arthur had experienced before, another person cared about him enough to yell at him, the world was odd.  
  
"As he lay in his cot in a tent he shared with Byron he thought about the events of that evening by the temple. How foolish he had been, the gods and goddesses gave their mortal servants everything, he had no right to question their existence. Aphrodite had been right; he just hoped the deities would forgive him. He was a boy, they would probably be less harsh on him, he knew his mistakes and said extra prayers the night, especially to Venus and Neptune.  
  
Arthur slept his first night ever in a peaceful dream state in the first place ever in his short life he was able to call home.  
  
  
  
Chia stepped nervously from foot to foot. She was waiting to enter the room, but she had waited out here so long. Where were those damn monks? If she failed then he would not have faith in her any longer. She would do anything for him. She was only six years old, but he had trusted her on this mission. She would not fail.  
  
"Enter," a deep voice rang from the room as the door slowly swung open. Chia took one more deep breath and then entered the domain of the monks of Cronus.   
  
"Who sends a female child unto Cronus's sacred ground?" one of the dozen monks in the room demanded. He was an ancient one, Chia looked at him closer, he was weak; she could wipe him out with one swipe of her smallest finger.  
  
"The one who has sent me demands back what he lent to your temple so long ago," the girl said simply. She grinned at the old monk; her straight white pearly teeth made her look like an innocent young child, but the monk knew what she really was and what she was capable of accomplishing.  
  
"The boy died of pneumonia," the monk said coolly. Chia looked into his dark brown eyes and saw the truth; he was lying to her, as she had thought he would.  
  
"The boy was given to you on the day of his birth. The one who gave him to your temple demanded that you take care of the boy until the boy's guardian wished him back. You have not done your duty," the girl hissed. Her sweet childish high-pitched voice cared the message of death and destruction for the monk and his precious temple. She saw some of the younger men looking around nervously. Fools, Chia thought, they don't deserve to live.  
  
"The boy might still be alive, we believe that either Cronus took him away to serve in his escape from the Mists of Time or that the boy is alive outside the temple walls. You would be wise to search there," the weasel of a monk suggested.  
  
"How dare you tell me what you think is wise. Your god Cronus is a weakling compared to the Goddess. You would do well to remember that when you die today," Chia stated calmly. Many of the monks were now looking scared. Chia smiled inwardly, these infidels were much too easy prey.  
  
"Wait!" a young monk barely past manhood stepped forward and threw his body down in front of the young girl-child, practically kissing the floor in front of her. "Oh just and beautiful Lady, your goddess speaks to me in foreign tongue, but I understand the meaning. She wants me to convey to you the truth. The boy was to be sacrificed this morning for the annual Wintertide ceremony. The elderly monk whom you conversed with early demanded it in retaliation for a past mistake that the boy had done when he accidentally spilt a bit of blood on the man's robes. Many of us, including me, wanted the boy to live, we knew of the burden that your Lordship had put on us and wanted to fill it out, but the elderly monk is mad and insisted. A few more were on his side and my friends and I could do nothing about it. I saw the boy escape with my own eyes, I was on guard duty and he sprinted right past me, I tried to follow, but the small body of the boy was lost in the crowd of people that live in this city."  
  
Chia looked at him like he was a cow going to the butcher's knife and said, "Liar."  
  
"No!" the man screamed as the girl opened her mouth and a long high musical note came streaming out. The monks covered their ears at the sound of her voice, but to no avail, it echoed and repeated in their minds.  
  
One by one the monks drew their last few seconds of air on Earth. It started on the men's arms and legs, the skin started peeling and cracking and turning a bright magenta, almost like sunburn, but much hotter. The skin peeled right back and then turned to ash as tendons, bones, and organs were shone. When the man was but a skeleton he fell over and disappeared, still screaming in agony.  
  
This all happened because of a young girl's singing voice.  
  
"What did you do?" a quavering voice asked from across the now almost empty room. It was the old monk.  
  
"He asked to speak to you personally. If I had my way you would be in the same hell that your comrade monks are now wallowing in," the girl said acidly. The monk knew better then to say anything, his skinned turned white and his mouth got very dry as he looked at the young harmless looking child front of him. What he saw was a demoness spawn.  
  
"Time to go," the girl's voice was back to its perky childish self. She skipped out of the room, singing to herself a song with a generic tune.  
  
"The monks had to die.  
The monks had to die.  
The monks had to die today.  
Today the infidels met their death.  
Oh, what a wonderful day  
The monks had to die..."  
  
She giggled like the child she was, her simple song pleased her. The tune echoed in the old monks head as he wobbled after the young monster.  
  



	4. The Name of a Friend

_Tales are told and weaved throughout time _

_to one day join the archive of all.  _

_Listen to this tale told long after Queen Serenity  _

_and her beloved Silver Millennium, _

_long after Uther's  son and his violent descent to Avalon, _

_long after the reign of King Endymion and Neo-Queen Serenity _

_and their precious Crystal Tokyo_

_and so long after the remembrance  of time _

_in which our Senshi have become mere shadows,_

_promoted to the wretched position of deities _

_from what they once were.  _

_Where another figure of power is rising, _

_reborn in a time so familiar yet so alien.  _

_Where the line of enemy and ally have been redefined, _

_where the rebirth  of our heroes _

_is either a curse or a saving grace._

Temples of False Promise 

Chapter Four:  The Name of a Friend 

**_Retold by HEL _**

"If you go about it this way you shall always come out with the silver thief card," Cardon explained.  Cardon, the master of slight of hand and, of course, playing card tricks, was trying to teach poor Arthur how to do the simplest tricks, but the boy was too clumsy and it was so obvious when he was trying to switch cards.  Cardon knew Arthur would never be good at any illusion.  It wasn't the boy's fault, though, he was just too honest to trick people in such a dirty way.  It was rare to find such loyalty and chivalry in a gypsy.  Cardon wondered what Byron had been thinking when he had brought the boy to the Isis Clan.

            Arthur picked up the deck of sixty-one cards.  In his head he went over the face types to make sure he remembered them that was the base knowledge of any skill in the cards.  There were five different groups, brass, copper, lead, silver, and gold; five of the most well known elements even known to the poorest the downtrodden and the most ignorant of people.  There were twenty-six cards that were of the higher values, they were the thief, the queen, the necromancer, the emperor, and the jester; each one represented in each of the different element groups consisting in all of twenty-five different cards.   The last of the higher twenty-six was a card called the Senshi card, in most card games this card was the highest value, a free card, or some other high spot.  There were thirty-five lower cards, numbering one through seven and each was represented in a elemental group.

            Arthur was deeply confused, so many cards with so many strange names.  He had a vague clue what a queen or a thief was, but a necromancer or a Senshi left him completely lost.  The words were so knew that they twisted his tongue around

trying to say them.   How could he possibly learn how to do anything with the cards if he didn't know how to pronounce their names?  This was all so frustrating for the young, newly christened gypsy.  

            "This is hopeless," Arthur grumbled.  They had been on the road for close to two weeks and he still hadn't learned any useful skills.  Besides failing at card tricks, he wasn't sly and mysterious enough to pull off a successful illusion or magic trick, to learn to play an instrument was completely hopeless, he wasn't tone deaf like some, but he had little natural ability and it would take years for him to even begin to master any instrument.  His voice was sweet  and he could sing fairly well, but again the words got twisted on his tongue, they were just too foreign and strange for him.

            Cardon sighed, but couldn't argue with what Arthur had said, learning the mastery of cards just was not in the boy's veins.

            "I hate to tell Byron, but you're right, this is hopeless," Cardon agreed.

            "He can always try something else, I know he has talent.  We just have to find it is all," Byron said brightly walking over to the  two hearing the tale end of the conversation.

            "Of course, Byron, of course," Cardon echoed, but he didn't sound too sure of what he was saying.  Byron frowned, it wasn't like Cardon to give up.  Enough was enough for one day.

            "Cardon, put away the cards.  We need to get back on the road.  If we want to reach York by the day after tomorrow we have to get a move on," Byron ordered and Cardon rushed to obey.  Around them people moved back onto the wagons and horses ready to begin the afternoon trek, they had been stopping for their noonday meal.

            People hurried around, putting things back in the wagons and getting themselves adjusted into their seats whether on a horse or wagon seat.  Arthur scrambled up a wagon side by an old man who he didn't know by name.

            "Arthur!" a shout came across the wagon train.  Arthur turned around looking for the source.  People were still milling to a fro and the bodies blocked his line of sight.

            "I do believe someone is calling for you boy," the old man told Arthur.  Mere seconds later Aphrodite came riding upon a magnificent dark gray horse with a white mane and socks.  She was leading a smaller pony by the bridle.

            "Arthur, if you wouldn't slouch so much you'd be much easier to locate," she scolded.  Those were the first words Aphrodite had spoken to him since that first night when he had unintentionally spooked her into ignoring him

            "I'm sorry," he said quickly, he didn't want to be on the receiving end of her anger, it was a nasty place to be.

            "Don't be so meek, boy.  Byron sent me.  He wants you to learn to ride.  Somehow the son of a bitch that I would be the perfect teacher," Aphrodite grumbled.  Arthur just sat there with his mouth hanging open.  Him, ride?  The  pony that Aphrodite led was a bit smaller then a normal horse, but still it was a long way down to the ground and what if when he did fall, which he would surely do, the bloody horse rolled right over him shattering his small ribs into a thousand pieces?  Not even the gods would get him on a horse, not now, not ever.

            Aphrodite was always keen to what people were feeling and she knew that Arthur was scared witless.  She was older, she was the boss and Arthur needed to realize that.

            "You little shit," Aphrodite said slowly and forcefully.  "You get your scrawny ass off that wagon bench this minute and climb on Orea right now or I'm going to box your ears so hard they collapse into your head!"  Sadly, Aphrodite had little patience and Arthur had little backbone dealing with overbearing women.  

            Arthur figured that Aphrodite was ten times worse then any god he had ever heard of and he jumped onto the pony named Orea in the blink of an eye.

            "Good, we understand each other," Aphrodite smiled coldly.  "Give Orea a gentle nudge in the side and follow me.  The time we get to the head of the group you'll be a pro and I'll be done babysitting you."

            Arthur just gulped nervously and looked back at the old man sitting on the wagon bench.  The guy was grinning from ear to ear and just shrugged his shoulders in a jester that  meant he could do nothing about the demon Aphrodite.  Arthur grimaced, Aphrodite would be the death of him some day.

            Soon Arthur was riding beside Byron at the head of the group and Aphrodite was nowhere in sight.  He wasn't complaining, though.  Riding Orea had proven easier then he had originally thought.   

            Arthur didn't say much, Byron was talking to some other men and women riding by him.  Instead, the young boy watched road in front.  At first when he saw the white blurry haze up ahead he thought it was is imagination, but when one of the scouts rode back shouting something, he knew that he had not made up the strange phenomena ahead of him.

            "Oh no," Byron exclaimed before the scout could say anything.  His eyes were glued to the road up ahead.  "Reports said that it was more like summer weather in this part of the country."

            "The gods must have changed their minds," the scout said weakly, trying to bring everyone's spirits up, but not doing a very good job at it.

            "Well, we'll just have to make camp here, most of the winter clothing and stores are packed away.  This is going to be a huge delay," Byron said angrily.  He was frustrated. Snow, why did it have to be snow?  He hated winter, he hated the ice, the below freezing temperatures, and he hated the snow.

            "What does this mean?" a quiet voice piped up from beside Byron.  He looked over to see Arthur, on his small pony, looking up at Byron, confused.

            "You've never seen snow, have you?" Byron asked the boy.  Arthur nodded in embarrassment, at every new turn he realized how little he knew of the outside world.

            "Well, how about we go to take a look.  I'll just put Marcus in charge of setting up camp while you and me ride out see what winter looks like," Byron suggested.  He hated winter, but was eager to show his foster son something new.  It was a  very wonderful experience, some days he wondered why he had never gotten married and had children.

            "Sir, you cannot go alone.  Cardon and  I will accompany you.  There is bandits and thieves riddled across these roads and we all know of your meager skills with a sword," Marcus said, riding up with a long sword and scabbard hooked unto his belt.  Arthur didn't doubt that the man could use the weapon effectively.

            "Fine," Byron grumbled.  Sometimes is was quite nerve racking being king of the gypsies.

            "Snow, rain, hail, and other such things are all forms of precipitation, which are all forms of water.  Steam from cooking pots are also a form of water..." Byron was trying to explain all this to a very puzzled Arthur as they rode down the path when Cardon interrupted him.  Byron was very knowledgeable on a vast range of subjects and enjoyed teaching all he knew to Arthur, but he sometimes forgot that Arthur needed things kept simpler.

            "Byron stop," Cardon demanded forcefully.  The group came to a sudden stop.  Byron could feel something wrong and silently scolded himself for not realizing it sooner.  He had been too busy speaking to Arthur.  

            "What is it?" Byron asked, all of a sudden very interested in what was happening around him.  He knew that Cardon would not have interrupted him unless it was something  very important.

            "Up ahead, a battle," Cardon almost whispered.  Arthur squinted his violet eyes so he could just make out the people and horses right where the seasons changed from spring to winter.  Cardon must have really good eyesight because Arthur had no clue that those specks up there were a battle.  Most likely Cardon was just an expert swordsman who knew the scent of blood in the air.  

            "We need to move closer," Byron commanded and the quartet moved silently into the trees and bushes surrounding the road.  They left their mounts tied to trees and moved through the woods soundlessly.  Byron motioned for Arthur to follow him and the boy quickly complied.

            After a few minutes they reached the edge of the season  change and moved in closer to watch the battle.

            "I don't recognize either side as a gypsy clan," Marcus whispered so only his companions could hear.  Arthur agreed with him, no noticeable gypsies were involved in this skirmish.  There were clearly two sides.  The one more noticeable had about twelve or so in it, armored men who looked and fought like well-trained knights.  They had three main colors adorning their almost identical outfits.  Each wore bright silver colored armor and mail with  red gloves and boots.  There were a few  of the men with deep black plumes attached to the tops of their helmets.  Arthur guessed these were officers or some such man in charge.  On each of the men's left breastplates there was a black symbol of a curling twig with leaves and thorns protruding from it.

            The other side was easily extinguishable because they didn't have armor on them.  Arthur could see that there was only about eight of them and about three of them were women.  Each had on clothing that consisted of the browns, tans, and auburns of animal fur, very dirty and grubby animal fur.  There faces were marked with strange symbols with red and yellow paint, most likely a mixer of mud and some type of fruit.  They looked a whole of a lot fiercer then the uniformed knights.  They had a wild, unnatural look to them.

            "Who are they?" Arthur asked timidly to the three men.

            "Shush boy," Marcus hissed.  Arthur, who was kind of intimidated by the rough man, immediately left all comments unspoken after that.

            The battle raged on.  Even though the knights had armor they were still being beaten back by the wild people.  Arthur watched helplessly as the women and men slaughtered the knights.  Arthur stared gaped mouthed.  One of the savages caught his eye.  She was barely past childhood, but she fought with more vigor and intensity then all her friends combined.  She seemed to know where to stick her stone daggers so they found the open vulnerable skin of the her opponents.  Her stormy gray eyes flashed victoriously as time after time her deft strokes brought down a knight, usually a fatal blow.  Her hair was sprung out behind her, whipping in the wind and gently falling snow around her.  She was a true demoness.

            "What are we going to do?" Arthur asked, forgetting about being silent.  Marcus gave him an evil look that clearly meant shut up, but Byron answered the boy civilly.

            "Nothing."

            "How can we just sit here and watch these people be slaughtered by these savages?" Arthur said angrily.  He hadn't realized until that moment he had taken the side of the knights in the silver, black, and red, but he had subconsciously.  Maybe, it was because they did not carry the savage looks of the wild people in furs.

            "Their fight is not ours.  If it was another gypsy clan we would not hesitate to help, but these are all strangers," Byron explained simply.  Arthur looked at his foster father coldly.  His chivalrous and brave behavior taking charge.  He did not know how Byron could sit and watch people be slaughtered and butchered.

            "I can't stay here and do nothing," Arthur exclaimed and jumped up into the open.  He had one thought in his mind and that was to fight the wild ones.  The idea seemed so noble and right to him he had no other choice then to follow it.  The insanity of the decision never occurred to the young boy.

            "No!"  Byron shouted as his son moved out into the battle.  He tried to stop the boy, but Arthur was just too quick, dodging the man's grasp.  Byron cursed under his breath and knew there was nothing he could do.

            The first thing that Arthur did was try to pick up one of the fallen knights swords, but realized it was much too heavy for him.  Thankfully, he found a lightweight dagger laying nearby.  It was covered in sticky blood, but Arthur knew it would have to do.

            All this time the fighters around him had ignored his  presence.  When a palomino and its rider came close enough to him he stabbed one of the savage paint smeared men in the leg.  The savage yelped with pain and anger at the little rodent who had injured him.  He brought his double edged ax up for a blow, but Arthur just tugged at his dagger that was still embedded in the man's leg.  This brought him sliding off the horse and into the snow.  The man grunted and tried to sit up, but Arthur was just too quick.  The boy who was barely seven withdrew the dagger in the blink of an eye and plunged it down into the man's heart.  As Arthur gave one last twist the man spasmed in pain and then was dead.  Arthur had no time to reflect on his first kill, there was still more savages alive and fighting.  He grabbed the reigns of the dead man's palomino and jumped on like he had been riding horses all of his short life.  The palomino was diffidently bigger then the pony Orea.

            Arthur gave a war cry that sounded through the afternoon air not knowing where he had learned such a thing.  He rammed his legs to the horse's side and it took off to his next opponent.  A well-trained warhorse was his mount during the rest of the battle.  Surprisingly it did not even try to buck him off.

            He killed two more that day, finishing the battle in a hurry.  The knights had barely managed to kill four and only seven of them were still standing.  They were in awe of the fierce and miraculous boy who had saved their lives.

            One of the savages was still alive, she had been captured.  Arthur realized it was the demoness from earlier, the gray eyed wild woman-child.  Standing watch over her were Marcus and Cardon, they had both joined the fight after Arthur.  Byron had stayed in the trees, after the battle he came up beside Arthur, not meeting Arthur's eyes.

            "I'm a lover, not a fighter," he mumbled trying to explain his actions.  Arthur smiled at his foster father, he understood that the man had many skills, but the battlefield just wasn't one of them.

            "Well done," a childish voice brought both Arthur and Byron to turn around and face the two riders coming out of the bushes from the far end of the clearing.  The first was the speaker, a petite girl who was even younger then Arthur with shimmery long silver hair and bright turquoise blue eyes.  The second person made Arthur wish the ground would split open and the core of the world gobble him up.  The rider was the terrible old monk from his days at the temple.  An evil and vile man by any standards.

            "We are only glad to be of service, my lady," Byron said humbly then bowed gracefully to the child. 

            Arthur scrunched his body down to hide on his horse, but then realized that he had cloak or over shirt to hide his face in.  It was too late the old  monk stared right at him like Arthur was a stranger.  The boy was puzzled until he realized that the old monk must not recognize him.  Two weeks ago he had been a scrawny dirty rodent looking slave to the monks of Cronus.  He was now a clean, neatly dressed lad who possessed extraordinary fighting skills, of course, the old monk thought him a stranger.

            "I fear that those beasts would have murdered all my master's soldiers," the girl's voice was high and musical.  Arthur could almost get lost in it.  She was wearing a heavy dark navy blue cloak lined with snowy white ermine fur.  She had pulled down her hood so all could get a good look at  her childish, but regal features.

            "We are only honored to be of service to you kind lady and your elderly friend," Marcus murmured, eyes downcast as he stepped forward.  The monk stiffened at being called elderly, but said nothing. 

            The young girl frowned and then seemed to recover enough to give the four gypsies a cold, haughty smile.

            "This old man beside me is of no importance to anyone.  He is just ancient monk not worthy of even a small ants attention," the girl informed them.  The monk turned away so his expression was unreadable.

            "Forgive our ignorance," Byron said, stepping forward and bowing.  "I am Byron, leader of the Isis Clan.  These men are my cousin, Marcus, and one of my most loyal friends and follower, Cardon.  The boy is my son, Arthur."

            The girl nodded politely and then made her formal introductions.  "I am Chia, servant to the great Tarqeq.  I am honored to meet such fine men as you, but I am curious about one thing."  Chia turned to face Arthur.  He blushed with embarrassment over the attention bestowed on him, a mere child, older then the girl, but not noble as. 

            "Arthur, as all can see you are but a boy, still a young child, but your skill with the weapon of a dagger is impeccable.  Imagine what you could do as a full grown adult with a sharp sword in your hand.  I find myself in awe, who was your master of swords?  I know the clans are not as a whole known as fighters, but you have a most fantastic gift."

            "Until today I have never picked up so much as a hunting knife," Arthur said truthfully.  The look on Chia's face and her remaining seven knights was one of surprise and some doubt.

            "If  what you say is true, then you are truly blessed by the gods," Chia praised the boy who blushed at the young girl's compliments.

            "My lord, Tarqeq, is a mighty and powerful man.  He is in need of such gifted soldiers such as you.  I know without a doubt that he would welcome you into his army.  It would be years until you would be allowed to fight, but when you did I promise you that a general's title is the only worthy position for you," Chia offered.  Arthur could not believe what she was saying, two weeks ago he had been a slave to the same monk who sitting upon the  horse scant feet away from him.  Now a girl barely looking past the age of five was offering him a place of honor for which usually the most experienced soldiers are entitled to.

            "I have heard of this Tarqeq.  Many say that he has his sights on world domination and uniting all the lands.  It sound like a noble cause, but Arthur must make his own choice," Byron's said before Arthur could even say his answer.  His blood was pounding, he had liked the feel of the battle.  At this time he wasn't even considering the men and women he had killed, right now was the time to bask in the glory of the moment.  Of course he would say yes.  

            Arthur opened his mouth, but then looked at Byron.  A  nagging feeling crept up his spine and goose bumps traveled up his forearms as he watched his foster father.  In those precious moments where he could change his life so drastically he hesitated for the sake of one man.  He realized in those two weeks with the Isis Clan he had come to respect, like, and  _love _the man like only a son could love a father.  Arthur knew that Byron cared just as deeply for him.  He had welcomed him into his home and heart, what kind of person was Arthur to abandon him now?  Deep down the Arthur's strong feelings of justice and honor sprang up and cleared his vision.

            "Lady Chia, I must decline," Arthur said, his voice rang bold and true.  Byron looked up at the boy with wonderment, even at the young age Arthur was he understood what a human should be like with all honor and dignity.

            "May I ask why?" Chia said frowning.  She had expected the overzealous boy to say yes, but for some odd reason he had turned down her offer.  That just wasn't right.

            Arthur looked at her strangely, not understanding why she didn't just let him be.  He had made his decision, what more did she want?

            "I am needed with the Isis Clan," Arthur said finally.  Chia just shrugged, not understanding the boy, but willing to except it.

            "If you won't except my offer then I must insist you  take something else.  Just ask and it is yours.  Would you like money?  A enchanted sword that always hits its mark?  How about a beautiful mare of exquisite bloodlines bred in Tarqeq's own stables?" Chia urged him to choose whatever he liked.  He could have anything in the realms of possibility  from such a powerful and wealthy man such as Tarqeq.   Considering how wealthy Tarqeq was it was a dream for any man, woman, or child alive.  

            Arthur knew he shouldn't choose with haste.  He needed to think things out.  He wished that Byron would council him, but knew the man would only say something silly like do what his heart and soul told him to do.  Arthur's face took on a look of great concentration as he looked around him.  His gaze fell upon the savage woman-child still alive.  She was tied and bloody, kneeling beside Cardon who had a sword pointed at her long sleek throat.

            She was beautiful in an exotic way.  Her skin almost as pale and pasty as the snow falling slowly around the group.  He could now see her dark black hair was perfectly straight without even one strand out of place, the battle had not mussed her hair one inch.  Her hair had no natural body.  Her deep gray eyes flashed with hatred at her captors and her tiny, thin body rigid with anger.  Arthur hated her.

            "I wish to keep the savage girl," he told Chia.  The silver haired girl raised her left eyebrow in surprise.

            "Why would you want to do that?" she asked.  Arthur just sighed, this girl had to question every decision he made.

            "It is what my father would do," Arthur told her.  Chia looked sicken with anger and Arthur wondered if he had gone too far.

            "Show pity on a woman who killed my master's knights?" Chia hissed.  Chia's remaining men shifting uneasily they had no wish to get into a fight with such a deadly boy, young though he was.

            "No," Arthur said vehemently.  The knights moved to their swords, but Chia motioned them to not threaten these four gypsies.  "It is called compassion, my lady."

            Beside Arthur, Byron was beaming with pride, the boy was learning.  Cardon and Marcus just looked fearful that  the Lady Chia would order her knights cut them down for Arthur's borderline insults.

            "Fine have the wretched girl," Chia fumed.  The boy was a great fighter, but he must be the biggest fool in all the world.  "I now must bid you fine men ado.  Dusk is gathering and my men and I need to reach a certain destination point by the time we stop."

            Chia motioned her remaining knights and the old monk to follow her and they fled away into the snow and tree as silently and quickly as possibly carrying their dead with them.

            "Now can we get out of here?   I am freezing!" Cardon whined as the rest of the party just stared at the retreating figures.

            "Of course," Byron said shaking out of his revere.  He then realized that all around him lay bodies of the fallen  savages.  "Cardon go fetch your horse and ride back to camp.  Bring back several men and shovels we need to bury these people."

            Cardon nodded and raced off.  He desperately wanted to back the summer season reigned.

            "Does the Lady Chia have no respect for the dead?" Marcus grumbled.  He was know guarding over the savage woman alone being so as Cardon had left.

            "They have no respect for their enemies dead," Byron  said reasonably and Marcus scowled.

            "Marcus go back to the summer side and find a open clearing where we can bury these bodies," Byron commanded.  "Arthur take Marcus's post."

            Marcus raced off and Arthur did as he was told holding his dagger to her throat.  Byron grabbed the bridle of the horse Arthur had jumped off of.  The other horses that had had their riders slain had run off.

            "Arthur that was a brave act you did back there," Byron told his son while trying to settle the war mount down. 

            "I just thought of what you would do when asked those questions.  In a way it was really you who did everything," Arthur admitted.  Byron shook his head in a negative way.

            "Tarqeq is powerful and would have made you the general Lady Chia promised.  You could have had it all if you would have survived all the battles he will need to gain control of this world.  She offered you power beyond belief as the second time and you chose the life of an enemy.  I did not make these decisions, _you _did," Byron insisted.  Arthur seemed to except this and went on to bring up something else that was bothering him. 

            "What are we going to do with her?" Arthur asked.

            "It is your choice," Byron said mysteriously.  Arthur looked at him in wonderment.  He was to be the judge and jury to the savage.  How could he do that?  He realized then that there were some questions he needed to ask her before he made a decision.

            "Woman, why were you fighting Lady Chia and her knights?  Was it for money?" Arthur asked.  He had realized that to pass any judgment on this woman he needed to understand her at least a little bit.

            "Demon spawn," the woman said and spit on the ground to show how vile she thought Lady Chia was.  Her voice was low and raspy Arthur had to strain to hear her.  The language was diffidently not her native tongue for her accent was thick and her words choppy and broken.

            "What did she ever do to you?" Arthur asked slowly, making sure she could understand him.

            "Last of tribe, fight her.  She kill rest," the woman said angrily.  After a few moments he figured out what she was trying to tell him.  For some reason Lady Chia or her master's soldiers had killed the better lot of her tribe.  Her and the seven other savages were just trying to get revenge.  Maybe, Lady Chia and her knights weren't the right side to be fighting on.  Arthur shivered, but it wasn't the cold winter air that made him make just a gesture, it was the thought of the mistake he might have made.

            "Why did she attack your tribe?" Arthur asked not sure if he wanted to hear the answer, but knowing he needed to know.

            "Lady's gods stink.  Evil.  No worship.  Lady kills tribe," the women-girl's voice grew defensive.  Arthur knew that she must be hurting inside.  Lady Chia had tried to force her beliefs on this savage's people and they had refused her and for that she wiped out the better part of the tribe.  That was wrong.  Arthur had grown up being forced to believe things that he did not believe were true.  He knew what he young woman was going through.

            "You're free," Arthur whispered, his voice was husky and guilt ridden, almost like he was going to start crying.  In the space of mere minutes he had done a most horrible deed.  He didn't question if the pale savage woman was telling the truth, he knew what she was like by talking to her.  He knew he had killed three innocent people that day.

            The woman's face took on a look of great surprise and then one of disbelief.  Arthur lifted the dagger away from her throat and dropped it to the ground.  He nodded when she gave him a questioning look asking if this was real.

            "Kikimora," the woman said as she stood up and put her hand on his shoulder.  The pain and guilt in him couldn't stand her noble behavior, she was offering him her name.

            "I don't deserve this," he said hoarsely, but Kikimora just shook her head.  Her deep gray eyes piercing into Arthur's violet ones.  In that moment he knew that Kikimora forgave him, he was ignorant and naive.  Her whole tribe had journeyed to the afterlife, the last because of him, but because of his noble behavior in giving her the freedom she desired she forgave him.

            Arthur could barely comprehend what he was feeling, but he knew that the woman-child would be his friend until the day one of them died.

            "I will remember, Kikimora," he said solemnly.  Kikimora smiled sadly and ran off into the growing shadows of the forest, sinking in the dark areas and becoming lost to Arthur's sight.  He hoped someday he could help Kikimora or she help him, because that is what friends were for.


	5. Learning the Dance

_Tales are told and weaved throughout time _

_to one day join the archive of all.  _

_Listen to this tale told long after Queen Serenity  _

_and her beloved Silver Millennium, _

_long after Uther's  son and his violent descent to Avalon, _

_long after the reign of King Endymion and Neo-Queen Serenity _

_and their precious Crystal Tokyo_

_and so long after the remembrance  of time _

_in which our senshi have become mere shadows,_

_promoted to the wretched position of deities _

_from what they once were.  _

_Where another figure of power is rising, _

_reborn in a time so familiar yet so alien.  _

_Where the line of enemy and ally have been redefined, _

_where the rebirth  of our heroes _

_is either a curse or a saving grace._

**Temples of False  Promise**

**Chapter Five: Learning the Dance******

**_Retold by HEL_**__

The day after the events concerning the Lady Chia and the proud warrior, Kikimora, the Isis Clan officially entered the winter side.  While many of the gypsies complained, mostly the elders, about the cold and wetness surrounding them, Arthur couldn't be happier.  He remembered the bitter cold nights at the temple and how his skin had turned that dreadful blue color, but this was different.  This cold came with the snow.  Byron tried to give Arthur another detailed explanation about precipitation and how science was actually the cause of this wonder, but Arthur didn't understand it and didn't believe a word of what his father was trying to tell him, this was _magic_.  Clearly a gift from the gods, Byron said the gods could decide on the weather, but they were not the controlling factor in how it was done.  Arthur ignored him, Byron gave up and drew his horse next to Aphrodite.  For the rest of the day Arthur was in a half daze over the dazzling whiteness and greatness of the snow.

            Arthur watched Liley pulled the piece of silk out of thin air.  The middle-aged woman was still a beautiful and striking figure and an expert on slight of hand magic tricks.  She had admitted that she possessed a bit of magic ability, but not enough to completely make something appear and disappear out of thin air.  Her trick was a trick of the eye and she insisted that even the clumsy Arthur, with a bit of practice, could learn to do these tricks too.  Arthur was  still a bit skeptical, but like Cardon he listened and tried.

            When he tried to slip the silk piece into the cuff of his shirt  he accidentally got it caught on a button, ripping the beautiful scarf in half.  Liley kept her composure but insisted Arthur practice with dishtowels from now on until he learned how to do it quickly and gracefully.

            "I don't believe he will ever have to learn such things.  Illusions were not what this boy was made for," Byron's voice boomed from the doorway.  He had seen Arthur's accident and found the whole thing amusing, Liley did not.

            "Don't you laugh," Liley raged at Byron.  He tried to keep a straight face, but broke into his trademark grin.  "Men!"  and with that Liley ordered the two out of her tent.

            "What did you mean in there?" Arthur questioned while trying to keep up with his father's longer stride.  

            "You have talent boy.  We all saw that yesterday and no trickery of the mind was involved.  You handle a sword like a true master, almost as well as the war goddess Mars is said to.  You are quick and light on your feet.  These talents are useful," Byron told him.

            "Useful?  How?  A gypsy's job is to entertain a crowd not hack them to micro pieces," Arthur argued.

            "You won't be using a sword, you'll be dancing," Byron told him.  

            "What does dancing have to do with swordplay?" Arthur was diffidently confused.  Where was Byron going with all this nonsense talk about dancing.

            "Everything.  When you are fighting with  a sword or any such weapon you build strength and graceful movements.  You have to be quick to avoid sword thrusts by your opponents and you have to be able to flex and stretch in some odd ways to avoid getting yourself gutted on another warrior's weapon.  These are all important skills in dancing, in there own way," Byron explained.  Arthur could see the reasoning behind the older man's words, but him dancing?  He was too clumsy.

            "Now your probably worried about your clumsiness," Byron said as they reached a tent and stopped outside of it.  Arthur looked at him in amazement, how did he know what was on Arthur's mind?

            "Lucky guess," Byron grinned and Arthur accepted this.  "Your not clumsy when you use a weapon to fight off an attacker.  When you are dancing you will get into the same mood you are in when you fight."

            "What if I can't do it?" Arthur asked quietly, his voice strained with the nervousness he was feeling.

            "I believe in you," was all Byron had to say and Arthur knew that he would try his best to be the best dancer he could be.  He had failed at everything else, maybe dancing was his forte.  

            "You need a teacher and I've got just the person picked out," Byron said and walked into the tent.  Arthur followed timidly.

            His mouth was agape as he watched the seductry dance of the gorgeous blonde dancing in the open spot in her tent.  Byron just grinned at seeing the woman dance to unheard music.

            "Aphrodite, I have a new student for you," Byron called out.  This seemed  to startle Aphrodite and she froze a few moments gazing at her two intruders.

            "Not him," she said icily with more venom than a cobra.   Byron frowned at her behavior.   Arthur wished to hide underneath the nearest boulder and not come out again until Armageddon.

            "You'll have to, I will make you," Byron said coolly.  Aphrodite just glared at him, but didn't argue further.

            "Fine," she hissed.  Byron nodded in approval then turned to his son.

            "Aphrodite is the best dancer in the whole clan.  She puts her heart and soul into her routines.  This is her passion and her life.  You will be amazed at her skills," Byron said and exited the tent.  Arthur didn't say anything about already having a chance to watch Aphrodite dance.

            "Well, pipsqueak, I guess I'll have to teach your oafish self how to be a swan," Aphrodite sighed and motioned for Arthur to step closer to her.  Mechanically he stepped forward.

            "No!"  she shouted.  "You move like you have something stuck between your legs.  Feel the music around you.  Dance!"  With that Aphrodite broke into a string of complicated moves, twisting and turning in a wild dance.

            "There is no music," Arthur stated.

            "Arthur, this is going to sound quite cliché, but you have to feel the music even when there is none that your ears can hear," she told him.

            "I can't," Arthur pleaded.  At the temple feelings and use of imagination were unheard of.

            "Arthur move like you did over that bridge that night," she said quietly to him.  Arthur blushed with embarrassment, that night was why Aphrodite hated him so.

            "Come Arthur, come away with me," she murmured while moving to the sound of her own music.  "Let's go back to a simple world where love and honor rang true in the ears of all mortals.  Where men and women were still willing to fight to keep their dreams alive."

            Arthur closed his eyes and images came to him.  Of a exotic raven haired woman with dark plum colored eyes and another women who had to be the most beautiful creature in the world, her sun ripened hair shown in the celestial light around her as her bright blue eyes danced for him.  An older boy comforting him after a nightmare.  A middle-aged man looking at Arthur with sadness and hope.  Arthur felt a sword sink into his gut and he jerked in pain.  His eyes fluttered opened and he was still in the tent, but there was a difference, he was moving, moving to the ancient song that he could only hear.  Aphrodite was right, there was music, Music in every moment, in every being's life.  Music imbedded in the past and past lives.  He danced and danced like he was one with the silent song that only he could hear.

            "You have talent Arthur," Aphrodite praised.  She seemed happy  with him now.  "All we do is have to fine tune your skills."

            Seven years pasted with Arthur dancing and dancing.  He traveled from town to town, country to country, over seas and around mountains, from winter to summer, to spring, to autumn, and he danced.  His mind grew keener and his senses more alert, his skills grew with sword and the dance.  He loved his father, Byron, and he cared for his first teacher, Aphrodite.  The Isis Clan grew to except him to the point  that they forgot he  had ever been just a raggedy boy brought to camp.  Arthur's life was normal, the way of a gypsy for he danced and he danced and he danced a little more.


	6. Rebirth

__

Tales are told and weaved throughout time 

to one day join the archive of all. 

Listen to this tale told long after Queen Serenity 

and her beloved Silver Millennium, 

long after Uther's son and his violent descent to Avalon, 

long after the reign of King Endymion and Neo-Queen Serenity 

and their precious Crystal Tokyo

and so long after the remembrance of time 

in which our senshi have become mere shadows,

promoted to the wretched position of deities 

from what they once were. 

Where another figure of power is rising, 

reborn in a time so familiar yet so alien. 

Where the line of enemy and ally have been redefined, 

where the rebirth of our heroes 

is either a curse or a saving grace.

Temples of False Promise 

Chapter Six: Rebirth

__

Retold by HEL

The man watched as the tiny sand particles slid slowly down the thin middle of the ornamental hourglass. He sighed to himself; a very human emotion that many mortals, even his own army thought him incapable of. They treated him as some type of god. His own advisors hesitated on voicing their own opinions when that was what he was most in need of. He wasn't stupid and naive, he knew that he needed help from others. Especially with the worldwide war he had his heart set upon. He needed all the help he could get.

Then again he couldn't exactly blame his soldiers and servants for the way they treated him. He was terrible at showing his emotions; he rarely smiled, gave compliments, or showed any feeling at all. Those types of things were just not him. He was a warrior and natural leader. Some day his conquering would have to be done and then he would need to be a ruler and use his political skills, but that day was years off. 

Why his men continued to serve under him was a mystery to many, but they knew something others didn't; their leader, Tarqeq, was a brave man whom many of the men admired just for being him. He was always the first into battle and his skills in a combat were almost unmatched by any. His soldiers adored him because he deserved it and they believed he could bring them to a new and better world. Of course, he had to step on many people to get where he wanted to be, but that was completely necessary.

As the man who wanted the world bowing on its knees to him in glory he was quite humble in his furnishings. He was in a tent, outside the cool fall air of the area blew in gently to his half opened clothe door flap. The room in the tent almost had a Spartan quality with a soldier's cot in one corner and a fold-up desk and table in the other for letter writing and strategy planning with his advisors and generals. The only other piece of furniture was a medium sized wooden trunk keeping clothes, armor, and other personal items. The clothes the man wore were plain, but of a fashionable cut.

The man liked nicer things and knew that someday as a ruler he would have to dress and act in higher style, but for now he was a warrior.

As he looked over at the hourglass he saw the last grains of sand drop to the lower half. The hourglass was not a normal one of its kind; he had magicked it. The power of it was tied to Chia. When she would leave on an errand for him or some such thing all he would do is tip the hourglass upside down and the sands would run until she returned.

"Master," a high pitched child's voice rang from the doorway. Chia was home.

"The boy?" the man asked anxiously.

"Master, the monk lost him," Chia said loudly, but her voice shook with the fear she was feeling, she wondered if her master would blame the situation on her. He frowned, clearly not pleased, but then noticed the elderly man standing behind her.

"Who is this?" he asked, but then realized the answer. In seven years time, the monk had changed. He was not just old now, but ancient.

"I am one of Cronus's loyal followers," the monk said and bowed deeply to the man. 

"Master, he is all that is left of his people," Chia informed and then added, "I used my voice."

The man knew what she meant; he had given her the deadly power and she had used it well.

"Monk," the war leader said forcefully. The monk was surprised at the man's calmness, but he did not that the man was raging in anger inside. "Where is the boy?"

"Gone, I do not know where. He was resourceful and cunning."

The man knew he shouldn't have left the babe at a heathen temple, but he had also had no choice, his goddess had demanded it.

"That is not the total truth," Chia butted in. The monk gave her an evil glare, but she continued, "He was going to sacrifice the boy, but the boy escaped for fear of his life."

"I see," was all the man said. He had heard enough. He nodded to Chia in a gesture to leave the tent. She did so quickly, closing the flap behind her.

"You believe in your god blindly, do you not?" the man asked. 

"Yes, of course," the monk said slowly, not wanting to say anything to offend the war leader, though, he knew he was dead no matter what he spoke.

"You lived and worshipped falsely, but my goddess commands that you shall begin your service to her. For she is the one and only. The rest are fakes, pretenders," the man said calmly. The monk turned pale with fear thinking his death was finely upon him. 

"Do not cower like a frightened hare. You are only succeeding in making yourself look foolish. Do not think you are worthy to die by my blade which is blessed by the goddess," the warrior scolded the old monk like a teacher to a naughty student.

"Master, what fate do you see for one as wretched as me?" the old man fell to the floor. His weak knees had given out on his ancient body.

"My goddess wishes you to live and serve her, but of course in your present state that is not possible. You must relearn all you have been taught. The best pupil is one who is young and flexible to outside influences," the war leader said. He moved did not even move as muscle as he called on his powers. 

The old monk gasped as a spasm of pain rocked his body. He cried out as tears ran down the wrinkles in his face. The war leader was laughing as the old man shuddered his dying breath and closed his eyes. Mere seconds later they opened again as new life sprung into the body, which had once been old, but now was young.

"Look at your hands, the flesh is soft and smooth. Reach those hands up and brush your fingers through your hair, which is now long and thick. Feel your face; there are no more grooves and hollows. My goddess has made you young again. A rebirth, a second chance. You shall be my pupil and I bestow the name of Suo Loco upon you," the man told the now young boy kneeling before him. 

"I live only to serve you, Lord Tarqeq," Suo Loco whispered. Suo Loco possessed powers he had never dreamed of as a monk through rebirth he would be able to tap into the source and serve his new master to his fullest extent.

"Of course," Tarqeq answered. He smiled one of his rare smiles, but it was cold and dangerous. He was a man of power who killed on a whim and lived to conquer the world. No one would stand in his way, no matter what the prophecies said.

Over the seven years Suo Loco and Chia grew into fine young adults of ages somewhere between twelve and fifteen. Tarqeq's army grew day by day and his two prize pupils grew ever so much more powerful and influential under the great war leader. 

Tarqeq's shadow of evil tainted city after city. Corruption and lies followed him like a plague. The world's balance, already out of proportion, spilled out completely. Total darkness had fallen upon people who in past lives had been saviors, the legendary Senshi of old. Chaos had a foot in the door, this time never to leave. Of the two men who were truly connected to the Earth only one still held the brightness of hope and that was slowly fading lost in the politics of life.  



End file.
